


Annual Tattoo Parlor Visit Day

by castielslovesong



Series: Tumblr drabbles [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Based on a Tumblr Post, Cards Against Humanity, F/F, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Tattoo Artist Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielslovesong/pseuds/castielslovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Next time you think your workplace is weird, please remember that my workplace has an annual tattoo night out, where we rent out a tattoo parlor, order pizza, play cards against humanity, and watch some of our coworkers get tattooed'</p><p>'#OMG JUST IMAGINE LIBRARIAN!CAS THO#ON A NIGHT OUT LIKE THIS#AND DEAN OWNING THE TATTOO PARLOR#TATTOO ARTIST DEAN GUYS#AND LIBRARIAN!CAS#JUST IMAGINE IT#JUST FUCKING IMAGINE IT#IM LOSING MY SHIT'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pins and Needles

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful people over on Lisa's tumblr (and the precious Lisa herself, of course, to whom I credit the tags), sorry if it doesn't do the idea justice guys, I'm rusty.

Cas has worked at the library for just over half a year now.

It was his first job, since moving to Kansas, and he likes to think he knows a good deal about what he does.

For example, the library was originally designed to be a church; half the windows are made of stained glass and they have a would-be confessional that they now use to keep the hoover and cleaning products in. It’s situated in a city square, which is 3 blocks from his apartment and is directly across from his favourite coffee shop. They have lots of books on American History, but very few on slavery. He knows the exact location of each genre, something he figured would be of use, and even when they get schools in, he’s memorised the preferences of certain classes.

But this is the first time he’s heard the words ‘Annual Tattoo Parlour Visit’ mentioned.

This has never come up in conversation, it wasn’t written on the job description – he didn’t _know_ that anyone he works with had a tattoo.

So, he’s understandably fairly perplexed when he arrives at work on a Saturday morning, steaming cup of caramel cappuccino blazing heat into his numb fingers, and in a customary glance over the notice board, he happens to see in large block letters:

ANNUAL TATTOO PARLOUR VISIT

In fact, he’s so surprised that knitted-cardigan wearing Anna, or baby-faced Samandriel, and in particular my-wrinkles-have-wrinkles Joshua, would be interested in tattoos, let alone having an annual event, that he ends up squinting at the piece of paper for a long time. Long enough that Gadreel, a regular, comes over to check that he’s ok. With a smile, he breaks himself free, and is engrossed in talking to the other man about the latest mythology book he’d taken out. He ends up missing the giggle aimed in his direction coming from the counter.

No body mentions it for the whole day, and it’s excruciating enough because it plagues Castiel’s mind. He’s got a stack of books in one hand, and he’s putting them back on the shelf individually, completely lost in his thoughts.

Does he even want a tattoo?

He places Patrick Ness’ ‘The Rest of Us Just Live Here’ back on the shelf; he shakes his head, he’s never given it much thought.

Is this a joke?

Using the hard spine to rest his forehead against, he contemplates the possibility. There are holidays in which it is custom to prank one another, but he got away easy, with Sam only putting his sweater on the highest shelf, Anna spiking his coffee with Wasabi and Josh using a hearty buzzer hand trick on him.

Maybe he’s not invited.

The idea spikes him in a way that he’s not sure he likes, the prickly hot spindles of disappointment causing his hands to shake. No, no, they wouldn’t do that to him.

Would they?

No, he’s being stupid. Swallowing back the bile he can taste, he blinks, and carries on placing books on the shelf. It wouldn’t be a big deal anyway; he might have plans tonight.

(Castiel does not have plans, in general, unless his brother turns up drunk and half nude on his sofa, or a quiet night in with his favourite hardback counts.)

“Hey Castiel,” Anna calls, surprising him with her quiet approach, in heels, on the marble floor.

She sidles up to his side, peeking over his shoulder.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were slacking to spend more time in the YA section.”

“I wouldn’t-!” He stops himself. Her smile is teasing, playful. Oh, it’s a joke. “Yes, well I don’t understand adults prejudice towards the genre.”

“So defensive, it’s cute.”

She doesn’t mean he’s cute.

“I just thought I should let you know that today is Annual-“

“Tattoo Parlour Visit day,” Cas interrupts, looking away from her to continue his work. “Yes I saw. What exactly does it entail and do I have to go?”

“Of course you have to come!” She shouts, affronted. He wants to remind her that they work in a library, but her exuberant personality seems to outweigh her career choice. “We hire out this adorable local place for a night, order pizza and chill while one of us gets a tattoo.” Her gaze is heavy, “And you’re going to _love_ the guy who owns it.”

He stops stacking.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Anna swings past, ruffling his hair as she does so.

“None what-so-ever.”

 

 _Pins and Needles_ is the name of the store, and Castiel trails through the shop door after his co-workers. They’re all happily chiming away about the last time they did this, how much they ate and how fun it was. He wants to ask who’s turn it is to have a tattoo; he gets the sickly feeling he already knows the answer. Anna and Sam have been throwing him badly concealed glances since the lunch break when he mentioned he’s never even been to a tattoo parlour.

Given that this is his first time inside one, he can admit he’s quietly impressed. The colour scheme is simple, black, white and grey, and it’s clean too – professional, not like the ones he’s read about in the papers or seen on TV. The walls are lined with framed prints, and Cas moves closer to inspect a particularly intriguing one, it’s Yoshi being ridden by Elvis with a banner saying ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ wrapped around the bottom. The artwork is incredible.

“Hello beautiful,” the southern drawl catches his attention.

There’s a petite blonde with her arms wrapped around Anna, and they’re leaning in closer than Cas would be comfortable with pretty much anyone.

The blonde looks his way.

“This the fresh meat?” He swallows, her gaze is hard and calculating, but it thankfully dissolves from a nuclear threat to a huge grin, “Oh Dean is going to have a fun time with him.”

Anna laughs, her red hair lolling over her shoulders.

“Alright ladies and gents!” Cas thought he could relax, having passed whatever test the blonde was trying to put him through, when a deeper voice booms from behind the counter. “Orders up, who wants what?”

There’s a phone tucked under the man’s ear, and a plastic glove on his right hand, which he’s trying to remove with his teeth, while his other hand twirls a pen around his fingers.

The man is intoxicating to look at.

“Pepperoni!” Sam shouts, louder than he’s ever heard him speak. He’s not exactly the most socially outrageous looking boy.

“You know ours, Dean,” The blonde answers for herself and Anna, who have migrated to the chairs of the waiting area. Josh and Sam have cleared the table of magazines and have pulled over a couple more soft looking chairs.

“Ham and Pineapple, stuffed crust,” Joshua grunts, lifting another chair.

Dean nods, noting this down. Cas knows it’s unfair to judge someone on their pizza choice, but he can’t help being surprised at how strange his current situation is; Joshua just always seemed more of a margarita kind of man.

“And hot stuff over there?” Dean says.

It takes Cas a good thirty seconds to release that a) he’s referring to him, and b) he just got called ‘hot stuff’ by Dean the tattoo guy.

“I’ll take a Texas BBQ, honey-bear,” Cas eventually replies, breaking eye contact with the man and blatantly ignoring his raise of eyebrows. He swallows, god he is actually engaging in flirtation, with this man, who has tattoos on every free piece of skin. 

He sits down, opposite Anna and the blonde, beside Sam, with a space left between him and Joshua. It takes him a minute to rearrange himself, with his trenchcoat bunching up in all the wrong places. When he is satisfied, he pulls a book from his inside pocket, and oblivious to his company, begins to read a few sentences. It will take a few minutes for the pizza to arrive anyway, and he has recently started a new series.

Glancing up, he can feel everyone’s gaze is set on him, with knowing smiles. Even Dean, who is ordering the pizzas on the phone, is watching him.

“I’m Jo, by the way,” the blonde says, from her perch on Anna’s lap.

Why does it feel like that is preamble for a very different conversation?

On the table is a deck of cards, and beside that is a black folder. Anna extends one long finger, her red fingernail superimposed by the folder that’s sliding in his direction across the table.

He opens it up.

He wishes this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the words ‘Annual Tattoo Parlour Visit’ mentioned. It would have given him the opportunity to call in sick or-

“I think you should get a cheeseburger done.” Sam says, grinning.

The boy has a point. He really does like cheeseburgers. He takes the folder, it's a portfolio, and begins to flick through. He's actually going to do this, and Dean hasn't stopped smiling since Cas' comment.

It is going to be a long night. 


	2. Bees?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a disgusting amount of time ew
> 
> Thank you all so much for the views, comments and kudos :3 y'all are awesome.

Cas can’t decide what he wants done; to be honest, having all those eyes watching him, waiting and calculating, isn’t really helping. Thankfully, it’s like Dean can read his mind because he puts on a huge grin and distracts the group as he bowls over with something from his pocket – then he throws Cas a wink, and Cas almost turns around to see who it is he’s doing it to, until he realizes it was to _him_.

“Yeeeeeeeees,” Jo groans in a way that is either pain or pleasure, he can’t tell, and she squeals when Anna digs her fingers into her sides. The noise is unpleasant.

“Oh man, this was so fun last time,” Sam chuckles, clicking his fingers and leaning forward in his seat.

He’s starting to feel even more nervous than before, and his throat bobs with an awkwardly loud gulp. He has no idea what Dean drew from his pocket, but it sounds controversial.

“We’re all going to hell,” Joshua sighs dramatically; his gaze hangs over him, “Don’t tell me you’ve never played CAH boy.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, falling into the seat next to him.

“Seriously? Have you been living under a rock?” He takes the deck of cards out of the box and gives them a shuffle. The way his hands work is far more mesmerising than Cas would like to admit.

Dean fans the cards out, flicking them over one another in one hand until Jo’s foot knocks into them, sending black cards cascading over the table. Scowling at her, Dean collects them back into a pile.

“Show off,” Jo mutters, her smile in no way matching the tone of her voice.

“Jackass,” Dean murmurs back, just the corner of his lips and that silver bar peaking up.

“Basically Cas,” Anna leans forward, jostling Jo, “We all have a selection of white cards, which fill in gaps on the black cards. The Khazar takes a black card from here, reads it out, and we choose what fits to make the most inappropriate answer. The Khazar chooses what he or she thinks is best, and that person wins!”

“Then the Khazar moves round a person.” Jo adds.

“Seems simple enough,” Cas sighs, his family were more board game players than cards. The number of family feuds that started over an intense game of Monopoly is frightening. Gabriel actually moved out for a week, because of a move Michael pulled.

“One of the best from last year was something like-“ Sam starts, only to be cut off by a giggling Anna.

“Richard Speight Jr's mustache!”

“Turned me into a superhero,” Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “First up though, Cas, what’s the word?” His head gestures to the folder nestled neatly in Cas’ lap.

“A shortened version of my name.”

The group burst into guffaws, and Cas watches with slight amusement, though he’s not entirely sure why they’re laughing.

“I meant on your tattoo, buddy,” Dean holds a hand out for the folder.

Joshua’s began to deal the white cards, face down. He’s not too sure what is supposed to be so bad about this game – in particular why people think they’re going to go to hell for playing – using someone’s mustache to become a superhero seems fairly mild.

Cas watches Dean’s face as he looks through his own folder. There is a mixed look of fond nostalgia but with a hint of distaste, and Cas knows the feeling. When people compliment you on your own work (Dean is quite obviously a very talented artist, but he won’t see it that way) you have to politely accept their comment, even though you can see all the things they can’t.

Dean’s fingers brush over the line work, and it’s like cogs turning watching him pick his own work apart. The way he should have done that part differently, used a thicker line, with more depth, changed the shape of that-

“Dean,” Cas’ hand rests lightly on top of Dean’s stopping him from turning the page. “I have an idea, but,” He glances back around their companions, “Could you do it, and let the others see after?”

The group disbands into groans of faux disappointment and Cas would have defended his decision if it weren’t for a knock on the glass door; that can only mean one thing:

The pizza’s here.

Sam runs for the door, and Joshua goes to help him hold the many boxes, bottles and smaller sides. Dean is still regarding him with a strange look, which Cas can’t decipher until he notices that his hand is on Dean’s.

“What is it you want then?” Dean’s voice is soft and low, his smile guarded. Cas trusts him, in this moment, Dean the tattoo guy, who lets his shop be rented out for a group of librarians.

Licking his lips, Cas moves slightly to the side. He feels coy for no reason. He’s about to tell the man he wants a bee on his hand, but somehow, it’s like the thermostat has gone up thirty degrees and whispering into Dean’s ear is the most seductive task he’s had to perform.

“A bee, on my hand,” His voice ghosts into Dean’s ear; he leans away to take his pizza box from an impatient Sam.

He expected Dean’s reaction to be mocking, to laugh at him, instead he just looks… Fond?

“You really are a dorky little guy, you know that?” Dean shakes his head again, picking up a piece of scrap paper that appears to be everywhere around the shop, and a pencil from behind his ear. He puts his own pizza box on the floor, and gathers his white cards into his other hand.

Jo takes head of the group, grabbing a black card and moving into her own seat now that they’re all comfortably positioned and ready to eat.

Just one eyebrow rises.

“What did the US airdrop to the children of Afghanistan?”

 

About an hour later and Cas can see exactly why they’re all going to hell. The pizzas are all gone, and he’s pretty sure he’s laughed tonight more than he has in his 24 years of life.

There’s been tentacle porn and exactly what you’d expect; giant powdery man-babies in the workplace; killing Santa with chainsaws for hands; keeping peasants in line with dragon dildos and so many much, much worse.

“What killed my boner?” Dean asks, wiping a tear from his cheek from the last round. He’s finally finished scribbling on the piece of paper; Cas would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly intrigued. It’s like when you have an inside joke with someone, or you both see something inexplicably funny and that becomes a bonding point between you.

What is he talking about? Liking Dean? His eyes track a black line of tattoo down Dean’s neck. It’s a primal thing, surely. Dean wouldn’t possibly want to get coffee some time, after this. He tries to focus on the folded piece of paper, or perhaps the game he's meant to be participating in. 

Cas searches through his cards, he’s won a couple of rounds much to his co-workers surprise. The whole ‘tax accountant getup’ as Dean coined it, makes him look innocent apparently; you don’t survive in a house with three older brothers without a deep binding dark sense of humor.

He slides his card forward and sits back, waiting for everyone else.

“What killed my boner?” Dean asks again, looking at the first white card, “Nazis.”

There’s a few laughs.

“What killed my boner? Child Protection Agency.” Dean winces as he laughs, “What killed my boner? The wrath of Vladimir Putin. What killed my boner? Crippling loneliness.”

Dean actually has to pause, his hands shaking with laughter.

“I’m not sure the last one matters, it was a dollop of sour cream anyway. Crippling loneliness definitely killed my boner, come on who was it? Jo?”

Cas reaches forward and takes the black card as his winnings from Dean’s hand. The rest of them have stopped laughing, but see Cas claim the win and are set off again.

“Alright, I’m calling time out for me and Cas,” Dean says, offering his hand to Cas, “Time to get you inked up bud.”

Dean wiggles his eyebrows in a way that is reminiscent of Gabriel (they would get on, a little too well he thinks) and slips the piece of paper into his hand.

Cas unfolds it and smiles down at the page.

It’s perfect.


End file.
